Cracks
by SherlockianWhovian
Summary: An incident in the Middle East leaves Mycroft stressed and unstable, and Sherlock is called in to deal with his brother. John discovers another piece of the Holmes brothers' shared history.
1. Chapter 1

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded as he strolled up to Anthea in the corridor of the private hospital. His voice was quiet but held a dark undercurrent of emotion. He'd been at a crime scene working on a murder that was at least a 7 when Anthea had called. He'd dropped everything and dragged John along to the hospital with him, not even stopping to explain any of his theories to Lestrade.

"Follow me." Anthea replied, leading and Sherlock and John through a series of doors, "I've been unable to reach him, he seems to have had some sort of breakdown."

"What happened to him?" John asked curiously.

"We were caught up in a bombing in the Middle East and returned to London yesterday. Physically Mycroft is fine, but the doctors are keeping him here because they believe him to be mentally unstable." Anthea explained, leading them to a private room.

"How did he behave on the flight home?" Sherlock asked as he stood outside the door, wanting to have all of the information before he faced his brother.

"He seemed quiet, nervous almost. He's barely said a word to me since we were pulled out of the rubble." Anthea admitted, "Then we arrived here a couple of hours ago for more checks and he was shouting and wouldn't let them touch him. I called you as soon as I could."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, his voice strangely sincere. He pushed open the door to the room and immediately stopped when he saw his brother.

Mycroft was lying on his back on the hospital bed, still wearing his suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, but with his wrists and ankles strapped down with hospital restraints. He was shaking and his breathing was ragged, clearly from fear and panic.

John swallowed when he stepped into the room and saw the state that Mycroft was in. He briefly thought that maybe the doctors were right, maybe Mycroft was unstable. He quickly pushed the thought away and moved forward to calm the elder Holmes brother.

"Don't touch me!" Mycroft hissed through clenched teeth, his muscles tense as he tried to pull free of the restraints.

"John, step back." Sherlock murmured quietly as he walked to the side of the bed and moved into Mycroft's line of vision, "It's alright, brother." he added soothingly.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft murmured in confusion, squinting to see him in the bright room.

"Yes, I'm here. You're fine, you're not in any danger." Sherlock said quietly, carefully releasing Mycroft from the restraints. He stepped out of Mycroft's line of sight briefly to turn the lights off in the room.

John remained a few feet away, realising that Sherlock knew exactly what to do to calm Mycroft down.

As Mycroft slowly sat up, Sherlock sat beside him on the bed. The room was much quieter and the dark seemed to help Mycroft get control of himself again.

"Did Anthea call you?" Mycroft asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied, but his tone lacked its usual sneer.

"Will you stay? I fear that they will throw away the key without your testimony in my favour." Mycroft said quietly.

"Of course." Sherlock replied, "Relax, Mycroft. I'm not going to leave you."

It was some time later that Mycroft settled into sleep beside Sherlock. John had long since sat down in the corner of the room, watching them in the darkness.

"I get the impression that this has happened before?" he asked his flatmate quietly.

"Yes, once or twice in moments of severe stress." Sherlock replied, his eyes fixed on his sleeping brother.

"When did it start?" John asked.

"A long time ago." Sherlock sighed, letting the memories take hold of him.

* * *

Sherlock was 6 when his older brother was sectioned and sent away to live in a special hospital.

Sherlock didn't believe that the hospital was particularly special as it always seemed so gloomy and cold. Mycroft's room in the hospital was empty, with no pictures, furniture or books. To a 6 year old who loved to read and struggled to contain his curiosity, it was unthinkable that someone could live in such an empty place.

Mycroft had never seemed mad to Sherlock. His elder brother had played with him, chased him around the garden and taught him to read and write. Mycroft was never irritated or frustrated with Sherlock, he would patiently answer each and every question that Sherlock put to him, wanting to increase his little brother's knowledge. Sherlock knew that their parents had frowned upon Mycroft, thinking of him as an oddity. Mycroft had little interest in the outside world when there was so much knowledge to be learned from books.

In later years, Sherlock would find himself reflecting on Mycroft and his parents. It was Mycroft's insatiable need for information that had driven his parents over the edge. They couldn't understand how Mycroft could be so clever at just 13. They thought that there was something wrong with him and took him to see doctors around the country.

It was the most recent visit to a doctor that had led to Mycroft being taken from home for treatment and locked away without his precious books.

Sherlock had never heard his brother scream before Mycroft was sectioned. Now he couldn't keep the sound from echoing around his mind. Their visits were short, monthly and carefully timed so Sherlock never witnessed any of Mycroft's treatments, but he saw his brother in the aftermath on more than one occasion.

Mycroft's screams would echo down the long, white corridor before he would be returned to his room, barely able to move let alone speak. Despite his exhaustion and pain, Mycroft would always smile to his beloved younger brother in an attempt to ease the younger boy's fears.

When Mycroft looked up to talking, Sherlock told him about his latest finds in the garden and experiments that he was planning to carry out. Mycroft was interested and encouraging, always willing to discuss ideas with his sibling.

"When will Mycroft be coming home?" Sherlock had asked curiously after Mycroft had been gone for almost a year.

"When he's better, Sherlock." Mummy had replied dismissively, not wanting to discuss her other son.

Mummy hadn't taken the situation well. She kept Mycroft's bedroom locked and tucked away any photographs that featured her eldest son. Sherlock heard her crying during the night and watched her mope around during the day. In just a few short months, it felt like their entire family life had fallen apart.

Sherlock learnt to stop asking about his brother and came to accept that Mycroft might never return home.

"You must be careful, Sherlock. Our minds are seen as a problem, not a gift." Mycroft had whispered to his little brother one night when he'd still been living at home, "They will try to change you if you don't hide your abilities."

Mycroft's words had made little sense to Sherlock when he'd been small, but in adulthood, he had reflected on the period and realised the truth. Mycroft hadn't been mad, he'd used himself as a distraction to protect Sherlock.

* * *

John couldn't believe the tale that Sherlock had just told him. He wouldn't believe it if he hadn't heard the pain in Sherlock's voice as he relived the memories.

"When did he get out?" John asked curiously.

"When he was 18. He'd been locked away in that awful place for 5 years." Sherlock sighed, "I hacked into his medical files once and found out what they did. They gave him shock treatment every day for five years and gave him all sorts of medication."

"Has he spoken with a counsellor? It might help with the PTSD." John suggested.

Sherlock shook his head, "No, he would never agree to it. He was different when he came home, John. He was cold and hard, it was like all the light had been sucked out of him."

"It wasn't your fault, Sherlock." Mycroft murmured, clearly awake and having heard their conversation, "I would do it again anyday."


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft had known that Sherlock shared his intellect the minute Mummy brought him home from the hospital. The baby looked up at him curiously with blue grey eyes, reaching out with a small hand and tiny fingers.

"You are special, Sherlock, and I will protect you." Mycroft had vowed to the tiny human, taking his hand carefully.

Sherlock began to show behaviours that set him aside from other children and Mycroft spotted it immediately. He encouraged Sherlock's curiosity and spent hours reading to him and answering his questions. Even at three, Sherlock had been intellectually further ahead than the other children in the village.

Mycroft had listened to Mummy express her fears about Sherlock when she thought the two boys were asleep and he knew that he must do something to protect his baby brother. If Mummy succeeded in having him looked at by doctors then Mycroft knew that Sherlock would be labelled as some sort of freak for the rest of his life. Mycroft had learnt long ago to hide his own intelligence from adults and other children, in order to protect himself.

A series of carefully planned situations led to Mummy finding Mycroft talking to himself and imaginary friends, completely distracting her from her worries about her youngest son. In her eyes, Mycroft was clearly influencing Sherlock's behaviour and had to be removed.

It took years and many examinations and mental evaluations from doctors before Mummy got the result that she believed to be accurate. As much as it pained her to send her eldest son away from home, she knew it was best for both Mycroft and Sherlock. Mycroft would be able to get treated and Sherlock would stop being influenced by his brother's madness.

* * *

Mycroft knew that his time in the mental hospital would not be a walk in the park, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so grim. He was denied photographs of his family, books or his personal possessions as the doctors claimed that he needed a fresh start to remove the madness from his brain.

The first session of shock therapy had been painful and difficult to cope with. Mycroft spent the rest of the day curled up in bed, trying to forget the pain that had rushed through every part of his body.

The shock therapy was repeated day after day, the doctors determined to cure whatever they thought was wrong with the teenage boy.

Mycroft came to understand what they were looking for and gave them appropriate responses to show progress, but not enough to show a changed mental state completely as he knew that would give him away.

Sherlock's visits were the only thing that Mycroft had to look forward to and he focused on them, trying to get through each day so he would be one day closer to seeing his beloved baby brother again. He knew that the young boy didn't understand what was happening and Mycroft did his best to reassure him, smiling and answering his questions as though nothing was wrong.

* * *

Years passed and what had once been a daily challenge became a weekly challenge and then a monthly challenge. Mycroft got used to the treatments, but still couldn't help the nausea that took hold of his body afterwards. He counted each day off on a calendar he'd been given, ensuring that he showed progress that was expected of him at the right times. Sherlock's visits had become less frequent as the boy started secondary school and Mycroft found himself feeling more and more desperate to be free.

In feigning madness to protect his brother's fragile intellect, he'd found himself going slightly mad in order to keep himself going.

Mycroft's 18th birthday arrived and he was finally free. Five years of pain and sacrifice had paid off and Sherlock had managed to avoid any awkward questions from their parents. Sherlock's freedom and happiness had been worth his own pain and unhappiness. He was aware that he'd changed in his time away from home, that he'd become strong and yet somehow institutionalized, but he didn't realize quite how different he appeared to his brother.

Sherlock avoided him, almost feared him, and treated him like he would break at any moment. Perhaps he would, Mycroft thought, perhaps he would fall to pieces. Life seemed different now - more harsh and more cruel. There was no room for fantasy and imagination, only reality and hard choices. Despite losing five years of education, Mycroft taught himself what he needed to in order to get A*s on all of his A-levels and was awarded a place at the prestigious Oxford University.

Mycroft kept his cold, iron mask in place as he completed his degree and got a place in the civil service. He rose through the ranks quickly, his superiors impressed with his logical thinking. He was able to predict a situation based on only a minimal amount of facts, something that Her Majesty's government found invaluable. Throughout his career, Mycroft never spoke of his time in the mental hospital. He refused to discuss it at home either, even years later when Mummy attempted to make amends by apologizing.

Sherlock was as Mycroft had hoped that he would be - intelligent, strong and handsome. He had the whole world at his feet and Mycroft would support him throughout. He would go through his time at the hospital again any day if it meant that Sherlock was safe and protected from doctors and tests.


End file.
